Fighting For A Red Robe
by WordGrinder
Summary: With his village destroyed a barbarian warrior gets sold off at a roman slave auction to become a gladiator. His owner keeps a pretty little prostitute by his side who has a mind for scemes like no other, which, when combined with the murderous abilities and limitless bloodlust of a full-fledged arena fighter makes a sharp tool for cutting chains. Rated M for violence.
1. Prologue

Fighting For A Red Robe.

Prologue.

He felt numb. Whether it was from the fact that from where he stood he could see the woman he was going to marry get felt up and molested by several men or his present state of complete nudity he did not know. He couldn't find the strength to speak even a word anymore when one of them paid the auctioneer and put his shackle on her neck. A pain shot through his chest like none before and the breaths he took were icy cold and gripped his heart. The next moment she was gone. "Where are they from?" said a voice close to him. He blinked away the tears he wasn't able to produce and looked around. The last few weeks he'd spent in a daze, from his village getting attacked and plundered to being shackled and lead to this town, he'd been away in his mind, denying the truth.

But now she was gone, and soon he would be sold off to whomever as well to live a life as slave. His grandfather told him stories about the greatness of the roman empire, but what he'd seen of it so far did nothing but sicken him. They came in numbers far greater than theirs, a blinking army of death, all in the same uniforms, with the same helmets, shields and weapons. Every time he closed his eyes he saw his mother's scull being smashed in with the throw of a lance. Someone touched his arm, and he staggered back. He'd been lost in thought again and didn't notice the person standing in front of him stepping on the platform.

"Don't worry sweetness, I won't harm you." The person in front of him said with a smile. It was a young man with skin as pale as the moon and hair as dark as the night. When he opened his eyes to look the now slave over again Kisame saw a darkness in them that went deeper, far deeper than just their colour. The young man came up to about chesthight. He wore that weird little beige dress thing everyone there seemed to wear, with a robe wrapped around him as red as freshly spilled blood. "I don't think these are what you're looking for, _sir_." The auctioneer, who'd just stepped over from the other side of the platform said to him, and Kisame, though he didn't understand the words that were being spoken, noticed the sneer in his voice. The figure in front of him turned his eyes downwards for a moment before looking up again with one eyebrow raised. "I think I'll be the judge of that, _salesman_. Where are they from?"

He shook a small bag he held in his hand and the sound of clinking gold immediately changed the auctioneers attitude. He stepped closer with a big fake smile on his face, "These fine specimen are true barbarian warriors from Africa! This one right here," He patted Kisame on the arm, who didn't like it and growled menacingly at the puny man while widening his eyes and baring his teeth. The man quickly removed his hand. "Yeah, he's a beast alright! Took out half a centuria! 40 men singlehandedly! But that's no surprise, looking at his physique." He gestured to the large slave's arms and legs, the size of tree trunks, being a bit jiffy about touching him now. "The three tattoos on both of his cheekbones stand for honour, bravery and strength."

Kisame, who didn't understand anything the men were saying, was fixated on the young man's dark hair, it seemed to shimmer in an unnatural colour when he moved, as if sunlight was woven through it. He reached out and gently took a handful of it. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" yelled the auctioneer, and started beating his unadjusted slave on the back with his wooden cane. Kisame barely felt it and brought the black silk closer to his face. The person attached to it, who's eyes had turned the size of saucers upon touch, was forced to take a step forward, towards a man four times his size. Looking closely, Kisame saw that it was really golden thread that was woven through, "Beautiful…" he said in his own language. He looked down at the other, who had a terrified, but also somewhat curious, look on his face. He quickly let go. The young man took a step back and smiled. "He has no fear, that's good, he'll make a fine gladiator. Tell me about the other one." The slave next to him was as tall as he was, and originated from a region close to Kisame's home. He was well-adjusted and calm. This was his second time being sold, as he'd been in the city a while. He told Kisame earlier, since their language didn't differ so much, that he'd been quite content where he was until his owned wanted to bugger him or something. He was unfamiliar with the meaning of the word, but apparently that action was enough reason for the slave to brutally murder him. Hence being sold again.

The auctioneer also told this story to the buyer, being forced to do so by law, and the young man seemed pleased by it. During the time the deal was being made Kisame looked around a bit and noticed the dirty looks the other free people, and even some slaves, seemed to send the dark haired figure. None of them wore a robe the exact same colour as him, and their looks confused him. He heard a clanking noise and looked to the slave standing next to him, a green metal shackle with writing on it had been put around his neck, and the young man was turning to him to put one on as well. While he was reaching up his hair fell over his back, exposing his throat. He was wearing a shackle himself.

While they were led out of the market and into the city by the ropes the figure had tied around their pretty new necklaces Kisame kept noticing the people stepping out of their way with looks of disgust on their faces. But their guide seemed to be used to it, and the way he held his head high said he wasn't uncomfortable at all, and felt no shame. He turned to the slave who was walking next to him, probably to the same destination. "Why does everyone seem to hate him?" the other snickered. "See the red toga he's wearing?" "Toga?" "Robe, it's called a toga here, it means he's a prostitute… a slave prostitute." The only prostitute he'd ever known was 'the lawless woman' who lived in the woods around his village and traded sexual favours for food and necessities, she'd been rejected by the tribes. "How can that be, he's beautiful!" and while he spoke it he realised it was true, the fair figure steadily walking on before him _was_ beautiful, more than any man should be.

"Yes he is, if we're lucky we'll get to tap that too." Tapdat? This man was using too many words he didn't know the meaning of. "What does he want with us?" "Nothing, he's a slave, slaves can't own other slaves so he was probably sent by his master, and from what I understood from their conversations just now we're going to be gladiators and this pretty thing has a boner for aggressive murderers." "I'm an aggressive murderer." "Me too." Kisame grinned and extended his arm towards the other, who grasped it in a firm handshake. "Better to be stuck in hell with a friend, right?" The young man looked back when his charges stopped moving and pulled on the ropes. They quickly strode forwards again, towards a new life.


	2. Chapter One

Fighting For A Red Robe.

Chapter One.

Kisame felt oddly watched while walking through the town, from the looks they were getting you'd think that people never saw a naked man before. After a little while they left the paved road, which was surrounded by yellowish stone buildings, and left town. They stepped off the gravel road and continued down a path that was formed solely by people walking over it every day for many years. Kisame liked it, the dirt felt warm under his feet and the trees that branched over the path were lush and green. The forest smelled like the one at home, just a little less sweet. The path seemed endless. After every twist and turn there would be a rock their guide recognised, or a tree he hadn't seen in a while and those would be greeted, talked to and have the moss thoroughly cleared off them. Eventually they came across a small, furry, rodent-like thing with a tiny tail and long ears, and the young male nearly lost his mind. He let go of the ropes tied around their necks and dove into the bushes to follow the creature that had sped off at the sight of them.

Kisame and his companion just stood there, not sure what to do. "Do we… do we run away now?" he asked, more than a little confused. The other shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know, I've never been left in a forest before." At that moment the raven crawled out of the shrubbery, looking quite giddy. He stood with a big smile and patted the dirt off his clothes, not noticing the twigs that were entangled in his hair. Kisame handed his rope back to him. "Thank you, sorry about that! Gotta enjoy the little things right?" The other slave nodded and with his charges in tow the young man carried on, now with a visible spring in his step. "So what do I call you?" Kisame asked his companion while they were waiting for the raven to finish his talk with a bush that held large red flowers. "Kakuzu's the name, you?" "Kisame. Say, you've been here a while, this guy isn't quite… _normal_, is he?"

At that moment the young man turned around with a big flower in either hand and gestured for the two of them to bend down. He slid the long stems in either male's hair, just above the right ear. In return Kisame reached up and plucked a few twigs from the other's hair. One had gotten stuck in the golden threads and he had to use both his hands on the other's head to get it out.

0

Itachi was having a wonderful day! First he got to leave the cage, which is what the slaves that belonged to Orochimaru called his training centre, then he got to visit the village _alone_, and to top it off he still had plenty of time left to escape into the thick, friendly woods of a few hours. This time of year the bears were still sleeping, and the two fighters he was towing along exuded enough confidence and killer instinct to keep the wolves at bay. He enjoyed visiting the town, even though the people there did nothing to hide their contempt for him, the smells, sights and even human contact were things he craved. Of course, the contact he got was never a positive one, but he had gotten used to that. When he'd first got sold into slavery and people treated him as if he was something disgusting simply because of the the robe he wore and what it stood for it was harder. But he didn't mind anymore; the hatred humans held for prostitutes, whether they sold their body voluntarily or were forced to do so, was something he'd come to accept. Even when they who despised him the most were often the ones who asked for his services under the cover of night. Though he still had trouble understanding why people hated him for being forced to do things he himself would rather not even think about, he didn't let their petty feelings hurt him anymore.

When the large man he was considering buying gently grabbed his hair he'd been surprised, but, and that was even more to his surprise, not really scared at all. The man had a vibe about him that wasn't so much frightening, but instead just slightly curious and very, very sad. The dark eyes that stared into his own were filled with hurt; he imagined he himself must look somewhat the same. The man didn't respond to being hit, didn't even seem to feel it, and he said a word Itachi didn't understand, but it sounded beautiful. While they walked the two men spoke to eachother in the same language, and he listened intently. The words they used sounded foreign to him, but felt soft, rounded almost. He couldn't really explain it, but he liked listening to it.

He felt at home in the forest, his family had owned a small farm during his childhood, and he used to be out in the wild for days on end sometimes, much to his father's dismay. One time he'd gotten attacked by a wolf, and the medical bills were so high they'd have to sell the farm in order to be able to pay for them. Not willing to give up the world they'd worked their entire lives to achieve they decided to sell him instead, it was a common occurrence around those parts of the country. At the age of thirteen his skin had been pale as a lily, his hair long and soft and his body completely virginal. Because of the doctor's skill there had been little to no scars, so the price he'd been sold at had not only covered all his expenses; it'd also allowed his parents to purchase a new cow and five chickens. He'd been living in the cage as his master's whore ever since, which was almost seven years now.

They arrived at the edge of a large clearing, in the middle of which it stood: the cage. Surrounded by a massive iron fence there was a low building which held the barracks and kitchen, and a thin high building painted entirely white with large windows next to it. There the master resided, along with his many love slaves, of which Itachi was, and always would be, the favourite. He made sure of that. Being at his master's side every moment, sleeping in his bed, witnessing all his business deals and making the man believe he loved him was his only way of acquiring the knowledge and power he needed to eventually escape. He'd never made any concrete plans, but only a few moments ago, when one large, warm hand gently held his face while the other plucked at his hair he decided the time had come. The one thing he was missing to be able to get out without losing his life or standing not a single chance out there on his own was now resolved. He'd needed a tank, one that would be willing to die for him. He sweetly smiled up at the barbarian warrior, who shyly smiled back and nervously shuffled around in response. He'd finally found one.

After 'accidentally' grazing the other's cheek while adjusting his flower, which suited him quite well, oddly enough, he turned back around and led both slaves into the clearing. They walked towards a small gate, which was heavily guarded, and were immediately let through. Itachi was very well known; who bothered him would have to answer to the master's whip. As soon as they were inside the cage Itachi removed the ropes from the others' shackles and gestured for them to follow him. They passed by the barracks and training grounds and headed straight for the white tower, Itachi opened the heavy wooden door with a golden key he kept on a string around his neck and tried to push it open. It didn't budge. "You." He pointed at Kakuzu "Try to open this door." The man walked to his side and effortlessly swung the door open. "Good!" Itachi said, "The master will be pleased." Kisame was baffled, he'd thought the village to have been beautiful, unlike anything that could ever be found in his own country. But this… this was amazing. The walls were covered in murals that told stories of heroes, battles and romance, all painted with incredible skill. The purple drapes that turned the bright light from outside into a magical glow were stitched with gold thread and the marble floors had their surface carved in enticing patterns.

The room was empty, however, so they followed Itachi up a flight of carpeted stairs into a room unlike any either of them had ever even imagined. The carpet was a deep red colour and felt soft enough to lie down on and never want to get up again. There were _almost_ see-through curtains everywhere, so it was impossible to tell how large the room really was. Itachi lifted one up and passed under it, gesturing to them to stay put. A few minutes later he returned, accompanied by a tall, thin man with hair even longer than Itachi's and a complexion so pale Kisame suspected he hadn't seen the sun in… ever. "Itasssshi, thessse are the new gladiatorsss?" he spoke with a hiss, and Kisame thought he saw that the man had a forked tongue.  
"Yes, the biggest, strongest ones I could find. They're African barbarians; they have no fear and are quite obedient, master." Itachi's voice was sickeningly sweet; his eyes were filled with love and admiration while his owner looked at him. "Good. Ssso why are they nude?" The tall man asked him while slipping his hand down the back of Itachi's toga. "That's just how they were-hmm, sold, master." He arched up like he knew the man liked when his ass was grabbed in a steely grip and forced the sickness in his stomach to quiet down.

The man snapped his fingers and out of nowhere a young boy appeared wearing only a tunic, who's entire appearance seemed a bit sloppy. "Haku, take them to Ssssabussssa and tell him to ssstart their training immediately… and put sssome clothesss on them." The boy nodded profusely and ran down the stairs, only to come back up and take the two men by their hands and pull them along. Kisame looked back; Itachi was following the master while looking back at him with a look of repressed fear and desperation on his face. When he saw Kisame looking at him he quickly turned his gaze away and disappeared behind the curtains.

"Follow me please! This way! Let's go!" The boy was practically bouncing down the steps, excited about his important task and the chance to meet his idol for what would only be the fourth time that day. Zabuza was the cage's star fighter, and thusly in charge of training the other gladiators. They were a pricy investment, having them lose, and possibly die, in their first battle would not be tolerated. "Zabu! Zabu Zabu! New gladiators!" The boy ran towards a trident carrying man who quickly slammed the side of his weapon into his sparring partner's knee. The other man fell to the ground and Zabuza smashed the trident down into the ground, trapping the other's neck between the iron spikes. "Haku. You're noisy." He said in a gruff voice while he straightened up. He turned around and quirked an eyebrow of the boy's two giant, black and still very much naked companions. "Why aren't they wearing anything?" he asked while the boy ran up to him and wrapped his arms around the man's hips, which was as high as he could reach. "Haku." He patted the boy on the head, "Get your face out of my crotch and get them some clothes will you?"

"Yessir!"

0

Kisame was so tired he felt about ready to die by the time he finally got the chance to fall down on his bed. The training he'd gone through to be a warrior back home was NOTHING compared to what he'd gone through today, and Kakuzu told him they were even going easy on him for being new… he didn't want to think about what the next morning would hold. The exercises they had him do were difficult, he wasn't used to using swords or nets or even that weird fork thing the trainer used for fighting. The moves he saw these men make, their battle tactics and strength… was unlike anything he'd ever seen before. "It's because they have to. When you're not the best, the fastest and the strongest, you die. Simple as that." Kakuzu explained to him. He was glad to have some kind of translator around, and at the end of the day Kisame knew what most simple commands and words meant already. But compared to them he wasn't strong, or fast, or the best at anything. So he kept getting thrown down, hit with wooden swords and just generally beat up. And as punishment he had to run more and more laps along the fence, until he couldn't take another step. But then that damn trainer, Zabuza it was, kicked him until he got up, and pretty frickin hard too!

And his butt was itchy. The piece of clothing, a… tunic or something, was of such a rough material that it chafed his behind with every step he took, and he was doing a _lot_ of running. So now he was lying on his belly on the weird smelling sheets and rubbed his poor butt with both hands, his behind had had a lot to endure; getting chafed, kicked, hit with swords even punched once… not a happy day.

He'd been glad to see that he wasn't the only one getting beat, though. All the others were fighting eachother in groups of two or more, and no one showed another mercy. At the end of the day everyone was pretty black and blue, and those who were at eachother's throats only moments before seemed to best friends while they sat around outside in an oddly shaped circle eating dinner. "They attack eachother like an enemy would, that's the only way to get it right." Kakuzu explained. "But aside from training there's really no reason to dislike one another, we're all in the same position here."  
Haku pushed a large cart with a crockpot full of something indiscernible into the centre of the circle and started handing out bowls of food while the crowd cheered. The boy turned scarlet when Zabuza stared at him incredulously while he handed him a much larger bowl, which was also completely topped off, than the rest. "Haku…" He handed the bowl back to him. "This isn't entirely fair, now is it?" Haku didn't take the bowl, but instead just stared at his feet. "But… but you need to eat well!"  
"So does everyone else."

"So what's up with those two?" Kisame asked his new best friend. Kakuzu dipped a piece of bread in his food and chewed loudly with his mouth open. "Fwom wha I'b hearb" he swallowed, "Little thing over there was bought by the master as a sex slave, but Itachi wasn't down with that, so instead he now works the kitchen and does whatever odd jobs there are available. Also he likes to hang around the big guy over there, who doesn't seem to mind. That's all I know." Kisame frowned. "Itachi?" "The guy who bought us."  
"But… he's a slave also, right? How can he have such a power over the master?" Kisame found he had surprisingly little trouble adjusting to his new life. The work was tough, but the people were spirited and nice, and the food was pretty good too. Kakuzu shrugged his shoulders and kicked the white-haired man he'd been sparring with earlier in the face when he tried to steal the rest of his bread. He stuck it in his mouth and slowly chewed it before speaking. "Fugg obb Hidan, smy bwead."  
"Fuck you _and_ your bread!" He then made a grab for Kisame's instead, who quickly stuffed in in his face. "WELL FUCK ALL-A-YALL!" he then proceeded to crawl off in a huff while grumbling about the wrath of some heathen god and stroking the weird symbol pendant that hung around his neck.  
The people here were pretty interesting too, Kisame decided.

0

Itachi stared out the window, hidden behind the curtain, down on the laughing and eating crowd. Haku was fussing around Zabuza as usual, and he couldn't help but feel a little happy for him. He still remembered the day the boy, who was only eight years old at the time, arrived. He'd found him hiding, nude and terrified, behind one of the ovens down in the kitchen that evening. At that time Orochimaru had already had his way with him, and Itachi almost killed him. He'd had a knife at the sleeping man's throat, but changed his mind at the last moment, deciding instead to manipulate the man to do his bidding. Having been around for so long Itachi knew all there was to know about the man, including his deepest, darkest secrets. At that time he'd already become the amazing actor he was now, and managed to trick the master into believing him when he said the boy reminded him too much of his little brother to be able to bear such a thing. Instead he turned the knife on himself, threatening to take his own life unless the man, of whom he knew that he could never function without his trusty whore's help, never put his hands on the child again.

Because no matter what everyone thought, to the master Itachi was much more than just a body used for pleasure. He planned every arena fight, knew every gladiator's strong and weak points, had a nose for business like no other and was practically the driving force behind the entire cage establishment. What he wanted was what happened, and that was the way it was. The boy, who was now about twelve years old, was obviously completely smitten with their star fighter. Itachi smiled, love was still a beautiful thing it seems. His sleeping master snored loudly, and Itachi turned around to look at him. The pale, snake-like person disgusted him in every way possible. He had half a mind to smother him with one of the sickeningly plush pillows right then and there, just for the sake of it. Instead he grabbed his blood red toga from the floor and pulled it around his naked self as a cape, he needed a bath.

He could still hear the cheery people outside while he waited for his master's large white bathtub to fill with hot water and bubbles, when he finally slid into the tub the sounds outside had died out and everyone was leaving for bed. He grabbed the washcloth and started cleaning himself. But by the time the water had turned cold, the bubbles disappeared and his skin was red and raw he still didn't feel clean. It was like this every night he lay with that man. He pulled the rubber plug and stepped on the cold tiles, only to immediately fall down in a heap and feel a pain shoot through him that was nothing physical. He grabbed his towel and pressed his face into it, not letting out a sound while his tears slowly soaked through the fluffy fabric.

The door creaked open and light feet tiptoed to his side. "Itachi? Are you alright?" he tried to nod but instead one wretched sob managed to escaped his throat. Haku picked up another towel, kneeled down beside him and carefully started drying his hair while his saviour's shoulders shook periodically in his suppressed pain. He found the other this way at least a few times every week; no one was ever allowed to know.

And he would never tell a soul.


	3. Chapter Two

Fighting For A Red Robe.

Chapter Two.

Kisame had trouble breathing, there were more people gathered in one place than he'd ever seen before. They were cheering, whistling and bustling with excitement about what was soon to start; the arena was alive. After the gruelling training the day before he'd been wrecked. Itachi, who apparently seemed to be in charge of most things concerning the fighters, had decided it to be pointless for him to train that day, and since Zabuza was scheduled to fight he figured it a good chance for the new gladiator to see what it would be like to be put on the spot. Haku had wanted to come as well, but he was such a nervous wreck about his love risking his life that Zabuza decided it to be better for him to stay in the cage. They were picked up and transported in a carriage which held a large iron cage in the back. They were locked up inside, probably to ensure that, should they become afraid, they wouldn't be able to run away. They sat across from eachother, and Kisame was amazed by the change in the other's character; where he'd been joking around the night before, and confident in his fighting skills during training, he seemed completely drained now. He didn't speak, simply sat there, hunched over and absentmindedly scratching his knees.

They sat in that cage for about half a day, the sun burned down on them and they were given no water. This was no problem for Kisame, he'd been living in a sun that burned much brighter than this one all his life, but Zabuza had some trouble keeping his head in the heat. Eventually they reached a town… no, it was a real city. Kisame, who had been amazed by the only other roman town he'd ever seen before, didn't know what to do with himself. In all his years alive he'd never even left his own village… his world had been so small. The buildings they passed were huge, white with red roofs and sparkling in the sun. Some were as big as their entire complex. There were people walking in and out of them, casually crossing the street in front and behind them, not even sparing the gladiators a glance.

The carriage drove on, towards the centre of the city. The further they went, the bigger and more beautiful the buildings became, they wealthier the air seemed to be. Eventually they came to a building that could not possible have been made by human hand, and Kisame stared up at the gigantic round arena, which seemed to reach the clouds. They were let out of the cage, had thick chains linked around their shackles and were pushed through a small door by a large guard. They were lead through a hallway that kept curving to the right and never seemed to end. It was dark; the stone was old, rugged and slightly glistening with water. The torches that were stuck to the walls were the only thing which cast a faint circle of light. There were sounds above them, and masses of stamping feet often made the arched hallway creak and shower them in dust. They passed by cages filled with monsters, some with wild manes and massive teeth, as he remembered them from his homeland, some he had never seen before. But all inspired fear into his heart. Who were these men, these tamers of the ultimate predator?

They passed a large gate, it lead outside, and for a moment they got to bask in the warm sunlight. Though the burning rays had been ferocious before, now they felt like a soft release from the cold darkness. As they stood there, waiting to get pulled along again, Kisame took in the sight before him. The gate lead to the large round arena, the floor was made of sand and all around it were high walls, which ended in endless stairs of seats filled with people. They were put in another cage, he really didn't see the point, did the gladiators really try to run away that often? There were low wooden benches along the sides, and they were filled with other gladiators. They sat down, no one spoke. Everyone seemed to be on edge, he looked over to Zabuza. The man was staring at the floor, his hands clasped, he seemed nauseous. Two guards came up to the metal door; one held his sword in his hand as the other fumbled with the keys. He gestured for a quite scrawny looking young man to follow him, the young man, in return, pressed himself against the wall, shook his head and started to softly cry. The guard stepped inside, grabbed him by an arm and dragged him out, then he locked the cage again. After a while the crowds started cheering, and they could hear his pained screams filled with fear through the thick wall. It didn't last more than a few minutes, and then everything went quiet for a moment before the crowd completely went wild. The gate slowly opened and the young man was dragged past their cell by his feet, leaving a reddish trail behind on the black stone.

"Heh." One of the other gladiators laughed mirthlessly, he stared ahead unseeing. Under his breath he muttered: "Slaughtertainment." One by one the other men were taken out of the cage, the barrage of sounds would be repeated and eventually they all came back; some dragged down the hallway like the young man, others slightly chopped up but still alive. After every fight Kisame felt himself get more nervous, an uncomfortable feeling settled in his stomach and then it was their turn. Zabuza got up, white as a sheet, and gestured for Kisame to follow him. Though he didn't have to fight this time, Kisame felt about ready to throw up. They walked up to the gate, which slowly creaked open. Inside the arena there were two lions circling eachother hungrily, their attention shifted to the two gladiators and they slowly started making their way towards them. The guard handed Zabuza his net and trident and the man, who had at this point composed himself behind a mask devoid of fear, stepped onto the warm sand. The gate closed, and Kisame was left standing behind those iron bars.

It was clear to him that this was the main event, mostly because there were no other gladiators left, but also because of the crowd. He wanted to look away, he really did. But he couldn't, he didn't understand how all these people could just sit there, cheering and yelling while they watched one brave man after the other get brutally murdered. It was over quickly, his nervousness had deceived Kisame's perspective, Zabuza wasn't the cage's star fighter for nothing. He was skilled, fast and strong. Though he couldn't outrun the cat-like beasts, as most people would try, he knew how to use their beastly strength against themselves. While he managed to catch one's head in his net the other came charging from behind. But he pulled the captured beast around himself while he dexterously avoided its massive claws, and the charging cat's jaws clamped shut on the other's spine. While the captured lion ripped the net to shreds in a pained rage Zabuza swung his trident from below him and rammed the three points, sharp as swords, into the beast's ribcage as it had latched onto the other cat and ripped out its throat.

The crowd was silent; this wasn't a fight the gladiator was supposed to win. But then he stood, tired but unharmed and covered in blood, and he thrust his trident up at the sky. The crowd went wild, flowers and handkerchiefs were being thrown into the arena and he bowed to his audience. Then he walked back to the gate, picking up only a single red rose on his way, and it was over.

They were given a case of round golden things, the same Itachi had used to buy him, Kisame noticed when Zabuza opened the wooden box to check the amount. Even though it was unusual, and usually a representative of the fighting school would come along to take care of the money, the managers had gotten used to Orochimaru's odd ways, and simply let it be. Aside from the gold jingling every time the cart hit a bump in the road their journey back was silent, but this silence was an elated one… at first. Even though it was evening now, it was still hot, and the blood Zabuza was covered with had started to dry up and smelled horrible. It was crusty and itchy and he was tired. "I'll bet you Haku's already running a bath for me." Zabuza suddenly spoke; he stared down at the rose in his hand and smiled. "Kid's always optimistic like that." Kisame just stared up at the shy moon, though it was big and bright that night it hid itself behind some clouds. He was scared. Compared to the other man he was as strong as a puppy, how would he ever survive an arena fight?

When they got back Itachi was waiting at the gate, he took the chest, counted the money and took it into the tower, Kisame decided to go and find Kakuzu to get some clearance on what exactly was expected of him and Zabuza headed into the bathhouse. It was dark inside, the two large basins on either side of the door were empty, and the candles unlit. There was no light coming from the boiling room, where the hot water was cooked up, but a small sliver of yellow light shone upon the floor from under the thick red curtain that hid the final basin, which was really just an oversized bathtub, from view. He was about to pull the heavy cloth aside when he froze, there were muffled sniffles coming from the other side. He didn't want to deal with someone's issues, but he was going to need that tub to wash all the grime off. So he manned up and stepped in. "Hey."  
Haku, who had just been minding his own business sitting on the ground in a corner of the small room watching a candle slowly die out, jumped up. "You're back!"  
"Yeah." Zabuza dipped his hand in the tub; it was filled with cold water. "You ran me a cold bath?" The boy shook his head and avoided the other's gaze. "It was hot… before." Zabuza grabbed the other's chin and forced him to face him, how long had the kid been waiting? "I waited all day… but you didn't come back." the boy's eyes were swollen and red, and his bottom lip started quivering. "You didn't come… and I thought that this time… this time finally…" He fell forward and pressed his face in the other's belly. Zabuza awkwardly patted him on the head.

"I always come back, you know that." The boy nodded, but didn't stop his quiet sobbing. "Haku, why don't you run me a new bath, and then I have a present for you. Can you do that for me?" the boy nodded again, and wobbled into the boiling room. Moments later the fires under the massive pots were roaring, and Zabuza had only just finished draining most of the cold water from the tub when the boy came running back in with bucket after bucket of hot water. Zabuza's current bloody state didn't faze him, he'd come back much dirtier than this; at least he wasn't hurt this time. And then when the tub was full the moment came, the moment the gladiator would take off his tunic and get in the water. For a moment he would stand there, in all his godly naked glory before he stepped into the tub and sank down into the hot water. And like always Haku stood there, shuffling his feet around, fiddling with his own tunic, blushing and feeling strange inside. "I know it looks kinda dead, but you always take good care of me and it was looking okay when I got it, so this is for you." The big man's feet rested on the far end of the tub, dripping wet sand onto the tiled floor, and he held out the rose he picked up that afternoon. Some petals had fallen off and most looked torn and wrinkled, its stem was snapped in half.

Haku's hands trembled when he took it. Then he hastily scrambled off to get the perfumed bar of soap and soft washing cloth he kept hidden so the other fighters couldn't use them. He filled an earthen pitcher with water and carefully put his flower in it. As always Zabuza would let the boy soap up his hair and wash his back, while he himself systematically washed the dirt off his front. They drained and refilled the tub three times before he was completely clean again, and then again the moment happened when he got out of the tub. But this moment was even worse, because now Haku was expected to use the only fluffy towel, which he kept hidden with the soap and the cloth, and dry the man off. He would try and tough it out, keep a straight face and be professional about it, but he always failed horribly in hiding his nervousness. Zabuza pitied the kid; his hands were trembling and he wouldn't look at him, he was probably still scared in situations like this because of what happened with him and the master. But he couldn't confront him about it and risk the boy feeling judged or dirty, and since Haku'd never complained or refused to be the one to help him bathe he would stay silent.

And then he would put on the soft, white, linen underclothes the boy always acquired for him the night after a fight, pat the kid on the head once again and leave him to clean up while he himself went to bed. He would lay there in the dark, close his eyes and wait. He would pretend not to notice when the kid snuck into his cell, or climbed in his bed, or curled up against him. He would feign sleep when the kid snuck back out in the morning and pretend not to know, just like every time.

For once Kisame was thankful for his dark skin, it left him invisible against the stone walls inside the barracks, and neither male noticed him standing in the corner of the hallway while they made their way into the same bed. He didn't know what to think about the kid, who snuggled up against the other. And he didn't know what to think about the man, whom he saw kill two monsters that very day, who waited patiently for the child to sleep before he wrapped both his arms around him in a protective embrace. He'd been on his way to bed, finally, after asking Kakuzu about relieving muscle pain so he could train more without the hellish pains. He didn't know much about that, so they asked Hidan, but he just had them run errands before admitting that he knew nothing. He did, however, tell them that Itachi knew about that kind of stuff, but at that point in time it was already past midnight and Kisame decided to just wait until the next morning. He was just about to head into his own cell when he felt someone touch his arm. Still a bit shaken up from the events of the day he took a staggering step back, in return the other reached up and pressed a hand over his mouth. "Shush! It's just me, come on." Itachi… gestured for him to follow, and without thinking about it he did.

They went outside, and walked through the darkness towards the tower. Itachi walked a few steps ahead of him, and Kisame couldn't look away from the figure before him. The young man's pale skin seemed to magically light up in the moonlight, and when he suddenly turned around he caught the other staring. But he didn't get mad; instead he just smiled a sweet smile and took Kisame's hand to pull him along.

Itachi was disappointed. He'd been studying the gladiators while fighting the day before, as he always did. Since he was in charge of booking the fights it was important that he knew the full extent of his fighters' skills. Kisame had none. He was easily tired, his defence was shabby, his attacks were sloppy and poorly directed, and his stamina was zero. He couldn't even run one lap without running out of breath, he would have to find another tank… or be patient. Once he set his sights on a target it was not in the Uchiha's nature to switch, so he would have to tough it out, but his tank's training would have to be upped big time. That wasn't all bad, though; this would give him more time to make the man devoted to him. He might even be able to get him smitten, but it would take some skill. He gave the hand he was holding a soft squeeze without looking back, and felt the other stumble. Luckily he was in possession of many skills.

He led the man inside the tower and through a hidden door, into his own chambers. There he took a vial of colourless oil from a shelf, uncorked it and put it down on his nightstand. He untied the rope around the other' waist and pulled the quiet and obedient man's tunic off over his head. He took a deep breath, took the other in for a moment and pushed the naked and slightly confused figure to sit down on the edge of his bed. "Don't you worry." He spoke softly, the small stump of a candle on his nightstand cast long shadows on the walls. Itachi poured some oil on his hands and settled in Kisame's lap, the man froze up. He rubbed his hands together until the oil had warmed and started massaging the other's shoulders. Kisame let out a low groan, and rested his forehead in the other's neck. "Yeah…" Itachi pushed against Kisame's shoulders until he lay flat on his back, and started his oily hands down the man's chest. "You just let me take care of you." The candle died.


End file.
